On 26 October, Essex reached Plymouth, where he was alarmed to hear that 'the Spaniards were upon the coast'; some galleons had even been sighted off the Lizard. He hastily refitted his ships and sailed to meet the enemy, though it soon became clear that the crisis was past. When he returned to face Elizabeth, the failure of the 'Islands Voyage' was notorious, and he had little to offer her beyond a few merchant ships captured on the way home. More seriously, by his folly, he had left England dangerously exposed to invasion, and the Queen received him icily.

'I will never again let my fleet out of the Channel,' she had told Burghley, and she now accused Essex of having 'given the enemy leisure and courage to attempt us'. Elizabeth was also angry because Essex's popularity had been in no way diminished by his undutiful behaviour. Most people thought he had been plain unlucky, or held Raleigh responsible for the expedition's failure. England's hero, it seemed, could never be guilty of incompetence.

Essex was furious: he could not understand why she should criticise him. 'We have failed in nothing that God gave us means to do,' he wrote. 'We hope Her Majesty will think our painful days, careful nights, evil diet and many hazards deserve not to be measured by the event.' How could 'others that have sat warm at home descant upon us'? He did not try to excuse his failure, and withdrew from the court to sulk at Wanstead, which the Queen had returned to him. Dejectedly, he wrote to her: You have made me a stranger. I had rather retire my sick body and troubled mind into some place of rest than, living in your presence, to come now to be one of those that look upon you afar off. Of myself, it were folly to write that which you care not to know. I do carry the same heart I was wont, though now overcome with unkindness, as before I was conquered by beauty. From my bed, where I think I shall be buried for some days, this Sunday night, Your Majesty's servant, wounded, but not altered by your unkindness. R. Essex.

Essex's absence wrought, as usual, a change of heart in the Queen. After speaking affectionately of him to the Earl of Oxford, she wrote to him, inquiring after his health. Then she wrote again, implying that the time was now ripe for forgiveness.

430.

Most dear Lady, your kind and often sending is able either to preserve a sick man that were more than half dead to life again. Since I was first so happy as to know what love meant, I was never one day, nor one hour, free from hope and jealousy. If Your Majesty do, in the sweetness of your own heart, nourish the one and, in the justness of love, free me from the tyranny of the other, you shall ever make me happy. And so, wishing Your Majesty to be mistress of all that you wish most, I humbly kiss your fair hands.

Delighted by these words, Elizabeth invited Essex back to court for the Accession Day celebrations. He would not come, for by now he was nursing another grievance, having learned that, as a reward for his distinguished services against the Armada and at Cadiz, Elizabeth had created Lord Howard Earl of Nottingham, thus giving him, as Lord Admiral, precedence at court above himself who was only Master of the Horse. The jealous Essex felt that he alone deserved the credit for Cadiz, and therefore informed the Queen that he was too ill to move from Wanstead. This plunged her into so bad a mood that all her courtiers were praying for Essex's return, and Burghley and the new Lord Hunsdon wrote urging it, but in vain.

Accession Day, now called Queen's Day, came and passed without Essex. Burghley wrote again, reminding Essex that it had marked the start of the fortieth year of Elizabeth's reign, and Howard wrote too, in a spirit of friendship. By now, Essex was becoming weary of his self- imposed exile, and replied that he would come if Her Majesty asked him to. But Elizabeth had had enough, and declared that 'His duty ought to be sufficient to command him to court; a prince is not to be contended withal by a subject.'

She refused to discuss the matter further, saying she was too busy, having the French ambassador to entertain. Henry IV wanted to bring about a general peace between France, Spain and England, and had sent a special envoy, Andre Hurault, Sieur de Maisse, to sound out Elizabeth. This proved impossible, for she was prepared to discuss anything rather than a peace, having heard what proved to be unfounded rumours that Philip was planning yet another Armada the following spring. She was courtesy itself: she apologised for receiving him in her nightgown,* but said she was feeling wretched due to a boil on her face; she offered him a stool, and permitted him to remain covered in her presence. But she seemed distracted: 'All the time she spoke she would often rise from her chair and appear to be very impatient with what I was saying; she would complain that the fire was hurting her eyes, though there was a great *What would now be called a dressing gown.

431.

screen before it and she six or seven feet away, yet did she give orders to have it extinguished.' She told de Maisse she preferred to stand up at audiences, and mischievously added that she had often provoked weary envoys to complain of being kept on their feet. 'I rose when she did,' de Maisse recorded, 'and when she sat down again, so did I.'

On another occasion she suddenly claimed that Philip had plotted fifteen times to assassinate her.

'How the man must love me!' she laughed, then sighed, saying it was a pity they were so divided by religion. Her people were suffering as a result, and she loved her people, as they loved her. She would rather die than diminish by one iota their mutual love, but she feared for their future, since she stood on the brink of the grave. Then, seeing de Maisse's long face, she laughed again.

'No! No! I don't think I shall die as soon as all that! I am not so old, M. l'Ambassadeur, as you suppose.' Angling for a compliment, she said she was sorry that he, who had met so many great princes, should have come to see such a foolish old woman. She also spoke dismissively of her dancing and other accomplishments, 'so that she may give occasion to commend her'. When he duly praised her judgement and prudence, she answered 'that it was but natural that she should have some knowledge of the affairs of the world, being called thereto so young . . . When anyone speaks of her beauty, she says that she was never beautiful, although she had that reputation thirty years ago. Nevertheless, she speaks of her beauty as often as she can.'

De Maisse was amazed at the Queen's wardrobe. He learned that she had three thousand dresses. At his second audience on 15 December, she received him in a gown of silver gauze in the Italian style, edged with wide bands of gold lace. It had 'slashed sleeves lined with red taffeta', and was open in the front to display a white damask kirtle, beneath which was a chemise, both open to the waist, exposing 'the whole of her bosom', which was 'somewhat wrinkled'. Flustered with embarrassment, the poor man hardly knew where to look during the two-hour interview that followed. Whenever he looked at Elizabeth, he saw more than was seemly. To make matters worse, as she talked, 'she would open the front of this robe with her hands, as if she were too hot', so that he could see her stomach right down to the navel. She also wore a 'great reddish wig' with 'two great curls' down to her shoulders; it was laced with pearls and topped with a garland of rubies and pearls. De Maisse could only conclude that she was trying to bewitch him with her faded charms. 'So far as may be she keeps her dignity', but 'her face is very aged: it is -long and thin, and her teeth are very yellow and irregular. Many of them are missing, so that one cannot understand her easily when she speaks.' However, 'It is not possible to see a woman of so fine 432.

and vigorous disposition both in mind and body.'

On 24 December, arriving for his final audience, de Maisse found Elizabeth listening to a pavane played on the spinet. They talked of many things, and he observed that 'One can say nothing to her on which she will not make some apt comment. She is a great princess who knows everything.' Despite his warm admiration for her, he had accomplished nothing, and feared that 'the English will do nothing in the business' of making peace with Spain.

The ambassador soon sensed the tension at court, and correctly surmised that it was due to Essex's absence. Elizabeth told him that, had Essex really failed in his duty during the Islands Voyage, she would have had him executed, but she had investigated the matter and was satisfied he was blameless.

Essex wanted Elizabeth to change the wording of Nottingham's patent, but she would not. He demanded to settle the matter by a duel, but Howard refused, claiming he was ill. Essex was now attending neither the Council nor Parliament in protest at the way Elizabeth had treated him, and the court was in an uproar, all business being held in suspension. Obviously, this situation could not continue, and on 28 December, on the advice of Cecil, the Queen appointed Essex Earl Marshal of England, an office in abeyance since the execution of Norfolk; this was a signal favour, having the added benefit of restoring Essex's precedence over Nottingham, and it brought about the desired effect. Peace was restored and 'the gallant Earl doth now show himself in public'. Nottingham, meanwhile, retired in a huff to his house at Chelsea.

In the euphoria of reconciliation, Elizabeth bowed to Essex's oft- repeated entreaties that she receive his mother Lettice at court, but she insisted that it would have to be in the privacy of her Privy Chamber. Several times the Countess had waited in the Privy Gallery to see the Queen as she passed, only to find that Her Majesty had gone by another route. Then she had been invited to a banquet the Queen was due to attend, only to learn that Elizabeth had changed her plans at the last minute. Now, however, she was, albeit frigidly, received in the Privy Chamber: she curtseyed, kissed the Queen's hand and breast, embraced her, and received a cool kiss in return, but it was not enough for her son, who now demanded that Elizabeth repeat the charade in the Presence Chamber. 'I do not wish to be importuned in these unpleasing matters,' the Queen snapped, and that was an end to the matter.

Early in 1598, de Maisse left England, dejected after being told by Essex that he was not interested in peace negotiations since he, unlike the Cecils, did not believe in the possibility of peace between Spain and A.

433.

England. He had also informed the ambassador that the court was a prey to two evils, delay and inconstancy, 'and the cause is the sex of of the sovereign'. It was true that the younger, masculine element at court were becoming restive under the governance of an ageing female sovereign, and some openly declared they would not submit to another female ruler. the sovereign'. It was true that the younger, masculine element at court were becoming restive under the governance of an ageing female sovereign, and some openly declared they would not submit to another female ruler.

Essex and many others who had a view to their future were already courting favour with James VI, but when Elizabeth discovered, early in 1598, that James, whom rumour declared might 'attempt to gather the fruit before it is ripe', had instructed his ambassadors in Europe to assert his claim to the English succession, she reprimanded him angrily: 'Look you not therefore without large amends. I may or will slupper up such indignities. I recommend you to a better mind and more advised conclusions.'

Generally, she was in good spirits, but Essex, under a 'great cloud' of gloom, had turned to ladies of the court for consolation. Both his wife and the Queen were unhappy at the rumours about his behaviour, and constant suspicion made Elizabeth depressed and vicious. Her maids were more than once reduced to tears after being unduly reprimanded, and when Elizabeth detected something going on between Essex and Lady Mary Howard, she became unbearable. Fortunately for everyone, Essex managed to convince her that her suspicions were groundless, and her good mood was restored.

Essex's friend, the long-haired dandy Henry Wriothesley, Earl of Southampton - famous for his patronage of Shakespeare - had for four years managed to conceal a clandestine affair with Elizabeth Vernon, one of the Queen's maids, but they wished to marry, and in February 1598, he asked Elizabeth's permission, which she refused. When he asked leave to travel abroad for two years, it was granted. He sailed for France on 10 February, leaving behind 'a very desolate gentlewoman, who have almost wept out her fairest eyes'.

Elizabeth Vernon had good cause to weep: she was pregnant. Fearing she would be ruined, she begged Essex to summon Southampton home. He did so, in the strictest secrecy, and arranged for the lovers to be married at Essex House, where Elizabeth Vernon stayed when Southampton returned to Paris.

Elizabeth celebrated St George's Day in April with a great feast for the Knights of the Garter. Soon afterwards, a German visitor, Paul Hentzner, saw her as she went in procession to chapel at Greenwich, and left a description for posterity: 'Next came the Queen, very majestic; -her face oblong, fair, but wrinkled; her eyes small, jet-black and pleasant; her nose a little hooked; her lips narrow and her teeth black; her hair was of an auburn colour, but false; upon her head she had 434.

a small crown. Her bosom was uncovered, as all the English ladies have it till they marry. Her hands were slender, her fingers rather long, and her stature neither tall nor low; her air was stately, and her manner of speaking mild and obliging.'

As Her Majesty passed, 'she spoke very graciously, first to one, then to another, in English, French and Italian, for besides being well-skilled in Greek and Latin and fhejse] languages, she is mistress of Spanish, Scotch and Dutch. Whoever speaks to her, it is kneeling; now and then she raises some with her hand. Wherever she turned her face, everybody fell down on their knees.'

In May, Henry IV made peace with Spain, which provoked Elizabeth to refer to him as 'the Antichrist of ingratitude'. Burghley urged her to make peace also with Philip, but Essex was violently opposed to it. He wanted to launch such an offensive against Spain as would crush her naval power for good. Burghley criticised Essex for breathing nothing but war, slaughter and blood. Elizabeth was torn between these two viewpoints, and had her work cut out to maintain a balance between them, which did little to preserve her good temper. On the whole, she agreed with the Cecils that it would be foolish to finance a war effort when there was no longer any danger of invasion.

Essex retaliated by publishing a pamphlet containing his views, appealing to the people to support him, and thereby incurred the anger of the Queen. As it turned out, Elizabeth did not sign the peace treaty because her allies the Dutch, who had regained more ground since Philip had switched his military ambitions to France, refused to back it. They had seen too much of the cruelty of the Spaniards to want them as their allies.

Then news came from Ireland that, amidst a deteriorating political situation, Elizabeth's Lord Deputy had died. She decided to replace him with Essex's uncle, Sir William Knollys, but when she announced this in Council on July, Essex, wishing to have an influential enemy out of the way, argued that Sir George Carew, of the Cecil faction, was the better choice. When the Queen refused, Essex persisted, and there was a heated quarrel which led to Essex, with gross disrespect, deliberately turning his back on her.

'Go to the devil!' she shouted, and slapped him round the ears. 'Get you gone and be hanged!' This was too much for Essex, who reached for his sword and cried, 'I neither can nor will put up with so great an affront, nor would I have borne it from your father's hands.' Nottingham stepped between them before he could strike the Queen and, too late, Essex realised the enormity of what he had done.

Elizabeth stood in appalled silence. No one spoke. Then Essex stormed out of the room, uttering threats, and rode off to Wanstead, A.

435.

whence he wrote boldly to her: The intolerable wrong you have done both me and yourself not only broke all the laws of affection, but was done against the honour of your sex. I cannot think your mind so dishonourable but that you punish yourself for it, how little soever you care for me. But I desire, whatsoever falls out, that Your Majesty should be without excuse, you knowing yourself to be the cause, and all the world wondering at the effect. I was never proud till Your Majesty sought to make me too base. And now my despair shall be as my love was, without repentance. Wishing Your Majesty all comforts and joys in the world, and no greater punishment for your wrongs to me than to know the faith of him you have lost, and the baseness of those you shall keep.

Most people expected the Queen to order his arrest and imprisonment in the Tower. Some anticipated that he would be executed. But Elizabeth did nothing, nor did she refer to the incident again.

The quarrel had been symptomatic of a subtle change in their relationship. Each was growing tired of the other and finding it more difficult to play their accustomed roles. Essex was weary of Elizabeth's fickleness and tempests, while she was determined that he should be governed by the same rules of behaviour as her other courtiers. She later told the French ambassador that she was 'apprehensive, from the impetuosity of his temper and his ambition, that he would precipitate himself into destruction by some ill design', and she had advised him at this time 'to content himself with pleasing her on all occasions, and not to show such an insolent contempt for her as he did; but to take care not to touch her sceptre, lest she should be obliged to punish him according to the laws of England, and not according to her own, which he had found too mild and favourable for him to fear any suffering from them'. Her advice, she added with hindsight, did not prevent his ruin.

In mid-July, Knollys wrote begging his nephew Essex to 'Settle your heart in a right course, your sovereign, your country and God's cause never having more need of you than now. Remember, there is no contesting between sovereignty and obedience.' When this had no effect, Lord Keeper Egerton informed his friend, 'The difficulty, my good Lord, is to conquer yourself. You are not so far gone but you may well return.' Essex had embarrassed his supporters, 'ruined his honour and reputation' and failed in his duty to his most gracious sovereign, so he should 'humbly submit', for his country needed him.

436.

If my country had at this time any need of my public service, Her Majesty would not have driven me into a private kind of life. I can never serve her as a villein or slave. When the vilest of all indignities are done unto me, doth religion force me to sue? I can neither yield myself to be guilty, or this imputation laid on me to be just. What, cannot princes err? Cannot subjects receive wrong? Pardon me, pardon me, my good Lord, I can never subscribe to those principles. I have received wrong, and I feel it.

And having uttered such dangerous and subversive sentiments, he continued to stand his ground.

The fact was, as Essex's friends were trying to tell him, that Elizabeth really did need him, for Burghley had fallen seriously ill. Now seventy- eight, he was white-haired and shrunken, but still in harness because the Queen, having relied heavily on him for over half a century, would not let him resign, even though she knew he was deaf, in constant pain with gout, and could barely hold a pen.

As he lay in bed in his house on the Strand, worn out with age and overwork, she visited him and affectionately spoon-fed him his meals. She also sent him medicines, writing, 'I do entreat Heaven daily for your longer life, else will my people and myself stand in need of cordial too. My comfort hath been in my people's happiness, and their happiness is thy discretion.' She told him she had no wish to live longer than she had him with her, a remark that made him weep. 'You are, in all things to me, Alpha and Omega,' she declared. So distraught was she at the prospect of losing him that she could attend to nothing. He was the last link with the ruling caste of her youth, all the others having died, and without him she knew she would be isolated amongst the rising new men, many of whom resented her or discounted her as a spent force.

When Cecil sent his father some game broth, he was too weak to lift it to his lips. Again, Elizabeth came to the rescue, and after she had gone, he dictated a letter to his son: I pray you, diligently and effectually let Her Majesty understand how her singular kindness doth overcome my power to acquit it, who, though she will not be a mother, yet she showeth herself, by feeding me with her own princely hand, as a careful nurse; and if I may be weaned to feed myself, I shall be more ready to serve her on the Earth. If not, I hope to be, in Heaven, a servitor for her and God's Church. And so I thank you for your porridges.

P.S. Serve God by serving the Queen, for all other service is indeed bondage to the Devil.

A.

437.

Burghley died on 4 August 1598, Elizabeth took the news 'very grievously, shedding of tears', then she shut herself away to mourn in private. For months afterwards, she would break down at the mention of his name.

By the time of his death, Burghley was being called the father of his country. 'No prince in Europe hath such a counsellor,' Elizabeth had said. He had been, wrote Camden in tribute, 'a singular man for honesty, gravity, temperance, industry and justice. Hereunto was added a fluent and elegant speech, wisdom strengthened by experience and seasoned with exceeding moderation and most approved fidelity. In a word, the Queen was happy in so great a counsellor, and to his wholesome counsels the state of England for ever shall be beholden.'

The Queen ordered that, although Burghley was to be buried in St Martin's Church at Stamford, he should be honoured by a ceremonial funeral in Westminster Abbey. Among the five hundred black-cowled guests at the impressive ceremony, Essex 'carried the heaviest countenance', but this was attributed by most people to 'his own disfavour' rather than to grief over his enemy's passing. Even in her desolation, Elizabeth had declared that 'he hath played long upon her, and that she means to play a while upon him, and to stand so much upon her greatness as he hath done upon stomach'.

Death was taking not only the Queen's trusted friends but also her enemies. On 13 September, after fifty days of intense pain, Philip of Spain died, ravaged by a terrible disease that had reduced his body to a mass of putrefying, stinking sores. By his own orders, his lead coffin had been placed at his bedside before he died. He was succeeded by his less fanatical, twenty-year-old son, Philip III, who was to continue the war against England in a desultory fashion.

Two weeks after Burghley's death, serious news arrived from Ireland. A large English army under Sir Henry Bagenal had been ambushed at Yellow Ford by the forces of the rebel Irish under Hugh O'Neill, Second Earl of Tyrone, leaving over 1200 dead or wounded and the English-held territory from the north down to Dublin unprotected. This was the 'greatest loss and dishonour the Queen hath had in her time', and she knew she had to act quickly before it was too late to reverse the damage done.

Tyrone was a fighter of great stature and ability, who had once been loyal to the Queen but had turned traitor in 1595 and succeeded thereafter in uniting his countrymen against the occupying English. He wanted freedom of worship, the withdrawal of English troops from the province, and a say in the appointment of government officials. Many Irish looked to him as their saviour, and great numbers had deserted 438.

their English garrisons to join his rebels, while the Spaniards were in league with Tyrone, having for years used Ireland as a springboard for harrying England. On his deathbed Philip II had dictated a letter of congratulation and support to Tyrone as his last act of defiance towards Elizabeth. To control such a man, the Queen knew she must appoint a Lord Deputy of great reputation and ability, someone who could crush the rebel forces and effect a peace.

Essex had remained at Wanstead, still waiting for Elizabeth to apologise, but when he heard of Tyrone's victory, he wrote to the Queen offering his sword against the rebels and, without waiting for a reply, rushed off to Whitehall, only to find that she would not see him. Spluttering with rage, he wrote to her, 'I stay in this place for no other purpose but to attend your commandment.' Back came the terse reply: 'Tell the Earl that I value myself at as great a price as he values himself.'

Desperate for some military action, and worried in case he might miss out on the redistribution of Burghley's offices, Essex feigned illness, which had the desired effect. Elizabeth's heart melted and she sent a sympathetic message and her physician to attend him, which led to a speedy recovery and prompted the Earl to write a flattering letter of gratitude. Charmed, Elizabeth agreed to receive him. Because she was so gracious at their interview, Cecil and many others gained the impression that matters were 'very well settled again', but it was not so. When Essex demanded an apology, the Queen refused it, so he flounced back to Wanstead in a foul temper. In fact, she felt it was she who should have an apology, but Essex was not prepared to give her one. Neither would relent, so a deadlock was reached. Egerton and others advised Essex that it was his duty to submit to his sovereign, but he argued that her behaviour had made it impossible for him to do so. Even his election, in Buckhurst's place, as Chancellor of Oxford University did not lift his spirits.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth had sent a new commander, Sir Richard Bingham, to Ireland, but he had died soon after arriving in Dublin. Hearing of this, Essex again wrote to offer his services in the field, and this time the Queen accepted. Thus he came to court, and in a private interview they settled their differences. It is not known whether either apologised, but it may have been the Queen, for Egerton had showed her Essex's extraordinary letter of the previous July, and she had been much disturbed by it. Nor, after this, was she ever quite so affectionate towards him. Both retained a sense of injury, and this was to overlay their future dealings with each other.

Essex did not learn from his mistakes. Hoping to extend his following, he demanded from the Queen Burghley's old - and lucrative - office of Master of the Wards, but she told him she was thinking of retaining it 439.

herself. Essex stalked off in a temper, then sent her a letter of protest, in which he pointed out that none of her royal forebears had ever done such a thing. He told her she should think again, but this only stiffened her resolve, and the office remained unfilled.

Undaunted, Essex put himself forward as the new Lord Deputy of Ireland, insisting that he was the only man capable of conquering Tyrone, which everyone agreed would be no easy task. The Queen had proposed Charles Blount, now Lord Mountjoy, for the post, but neither he nor anyone else wanted it, and although she had reservations about giving it to Essex, she had no choice. Robert Markham, a courtier, wrote: 'If the Lord Deputy performs in the field what he hath promised in the Council, all will be well, but though the Queen hath granted forgiveness for his late demeanour in her presence, we know not what to think. She hath placed confidence in the man who so lately sought other treatment at her hands.'

The next two months saw Elizabeth and Essex wrangling over how his campaign should be conducted. He wanted the largest army ever sent to Ireland, and when she refused it, he sulked. 'How much soever Her Majesty despiseth me, she shall know she hath lost him who, for her sake, would have thought danger a sport and death a feast,' he raged. Already, he was having second thoughts about going to Ireland, yet 'his honour could not stand without undertaking it'.

In the end, his persistence got him what he wanted, the greatest army ever raised during Elizabeth's reign, comprising 16,000 infantry and 13,000 cavalry. 'By God', he told Harington, 'I will beat Tyrone in the field, for nothing worthy of Her Majesty's honour has [yet] been achieved.'

Meanwhile, Elizabeth Vernon was still living at Essex House. When the time came for her to be delivered, Essex sent her to stay with his sister, Lady Rich, who was just then engaged in an adulterous affair with Lord Mountjoy and was well versed in subterfuge. A daughter, Penelope, was born on 8 November.

Inevitably, the Queen found out, and ordered Southampton home at once. When he landed, he was arrested for having married without her consent, and committed for a short spell to the Fleet Prison. Essex was by then sheltering the Earl's wife and daughter at Essex House, and did his utmost to secure his friend's release. This did not make for harmony in his relations with the Queen.

He had also fallen out with Raleigh again. On Accession Day that year, Essex and his followers appeared in the tiltyard sporting orange tawny plumes, in an attempt to upstage Raleigh, whom Essex had learned intended to deck out his men in the same. Elizabeth was so 440.

disgusted at such petty behaviour that she left early, bringing the day's festivities to an abrupt end.

'To Ireland I go,' wrote Essex on 4 January, 1599. 'The Queen hath irrevocably decreed it.' Many would be pleased to have him out of the way because, as old age advanced, Elizabeth was finding it increasingly difficult to strike a balance between the rival factions at court, and to control Essex, whose 'greatness was now judged to depend as much on Her Majesty's fear of him as her love of him'.

But he faced no easy task. Most Englishmen had little understanding of the native Irish, accounting them savage tribesmen who had wilfully embraced their own form of Catholicism to undermine their English overlords. No Elizabethan Lord Deputy before him had succeeded in conquering them, and most English commanders found it impossible to apply their normal strategies to a land strewn with mountains and bogs, where guerrilla warfare was the norm.

Essex was dismissive of these difficulties, being confident that he would rout Tyrone and thus establish his supremacy in every respect over Cecil and Raleigh, whom he believed were working to undermine his influence. But he feared that, whilst he was away, his 'practising enemies' would poison the Queen's mind against him. 'I am armed on the breast but not on the back,' he told the Council, quite openly. It was this fear, more than any other consideration, that caused him, early in 1599, to have second thoughts about going to Ireland.

On Twelfth Night, Essex danced with the Queen before the visiting Danish ambassador. Elizabeth was at this time engrossed in translating the Ars Poetica Ars Poetica of Virgil into English, and was still, at sixty-five, 'excellent disposed to hunting', going for long rides 'every second day'. That year, a German visitor, Thomas Platter, described her, certainly with exaggeration, as 'very youthful still in appearance, seeming no more than twenty years of age'. of Virgil into English, and was still, at sixty-five, 'excellent disposed to hunting', going for long rides 'every second day'. That year, a German visitor, Thomas Platter, described her, certainly with exaggeration, as 'very youthful still in appearance, seeming no more than twenty years of age'.

It was gradually dawning on Essex that he had saddled himself with 'the hardest task that ever gentleman was set about'. On 1 March, we hear that 'new difficulties arise daily as touching the time of his abode, his entertainment, etc., upon which points he is so little satisfied that many times he makes it a question whether he should go or not'. And as the time for his departure loomed, he asked the Council to pity him rather than expect great victories.

Elizabeth was also having second thoughts about sending Essex to Ireland. His courage she did not doubt, but she had little faith in his judgement and stability, and nor, now, could she be sure of his loyalty. In February, she had been perturbed by the publication of Dr John Hayward's account of The First Part of the Life and Reign of King Henry the Fourth, The First Part of the Life and Reign of King Henry the Fourth, which was dedicated to Essex. She was painfully aware that, since which was dedicated to Essex. She was painfully aware that, since 441.

a performance of Shakespeare's Richard II Richard II in 1597, some of her subjects saw in Essex a second Henry of Bolingbroke, who might overthrow her as Henry had overthrown Richard. Aware that she was entrusting to Essex the greatest army she had ever raised, she declared herself offended by the book. in 1597, some of her subjects saw in Essex a second Henry of Bolingbroke, who might overthrow her as Henry had overthrown Richard. Aware that she was entrusting to Essex the greatest army she had ever raised, she declared herself offended by the book.

'Cannot this John Hayward be prosecuted for treason?' she asked Francis Bacon.

'Not, I think, for treason, Madam, but for felony,' he replied.

'How so?'

'He has stolen so many passages from Tacitus!' smiled Bacon. But Elizabeth was in no mood for jests.

'I suspect the worst,' she declared. 'I shall force the truth from him.' She even suggested the rack, though Bacon dissuaded her. Nevertheless, Hayward was arrested, condemned in the Star Chamber for having dared write of the deposition of a sovereign, and imprisoned in the Fleet for the rest of Elizabeth's reign.

Hoping that Essex would learn a lesson from this example, the Queen signed his commission on 12 March, giving him leave to return from Ireland when he thought fit. 'I have the best warrant that ever man had,' he observed.

The sun was shining on 27 March as a plainly-garbed Essex rode out of London at the head of his splendid army, cheered by the watching crowds, who cried, 'God bless Your Lordship!' Just beyond Islington, however, a thunderstorm broke, 'which some held an ominous prodigy'. Bacon wrote afterwards: 'I did plainly see his overthrow chained by destiny to that journey.'

With Essex rode Southampton (who was still, as far as the Queen was concerned, in disgrace), Mountjoy and John Harington, whom he would knight during the campaign; the Queen had vetoed him conferring any offices on the former two, fearing he would build up too great a military affinity. But Essex merely resolved to wait until he was safely in Ireland, and then appoint his friends to whatever offices he pleased.

His crossing was dogged by storms, and on 15 April, he arrived at Dublin, complaining of rheumatism. It had been agreed that he should advance on Ulster and attack Tyrone, but his Irish council urged him to wait until June, when the cattle would be fattened and there would be plenty of food for his army. Without informing Elizabeth, Essex decided, early in May, to march his army into Leinster and thence through Munster, to subdue the rebels in those provinces. Revelling in his power, he also set about creating thirty-eight new knights, despite having received from the Queen 'an express letter, all written with her own hand', commanding him not to; he also appointed Southampton 442.

Master of the Horse, again in defiance of Elizabeth's wishes. When she wrote ordering him to revoke the appointment, he flatly refused on the grounds that it would encourage the rebels to see the English disunited. June came, but although the cattle were fat, Essex made no move against Tyrone. So far, he had taken one small castle at Cahir. On the 28th, Elizabeth, furious at the delay, complained that she was 'nothing satisfied with the Earl of Essex's manner of proceeding, nor likes anything that is done, but says she allows him , 1000 a day for going on progress'. Essex therefore marched his exhausted army back to Dublin, arriving on 11 July. He was ailing and in a temper, having learned that, behind his back, Cecil had been appointed Master of the Wards, and he complained to the Queen: Why do I talk of victory or success? Is it not known that from England I receive nothing but discomfort and soul's wounds. Is it not spoken in the army that Your Majesty's favour is diverted from me, and that already you do bode ill to me? This is the hand of him that did live your dearest, and will die Your Majesty's faithfullest, servant.

Elizabeth was unimpressed: she wanted deeds, not words. In a reply sent on 19 July, she pointed out: If you compare the time that is run on and the excessive charges that is spent, with the effect of anything wrought on this voyage, you must needs think that we, that have the eyes of foreign princes upon our actions, and have the hearts of people to comfort and cherish, who groan under the burden of continual levies and impositions, can little pleasure ourselves hitherto with anything that hath been effected. Whereunto we will add this one thing, that doth more displease us than any charge or expense, which is, that it must be the Queen of England's fortune (who hath held down the greatest enemy she had) to make a base bush kern to be accounted so famous a rebel as to be a person against whom so many thousands of foot and horse, besides all the force of the nobility of that kingdom, must be thought too little to be employed.

Whilst Tyrone was blazing his conquests throughout Christendom, Essex could only write letters boasting of his supposed prowess, when in fact he had squandered men, money and resources.

Again, Elizabeth commanded him to proceed to Ulster and deal with Tyrone as he had promised: 'When we call to mind the scandal it would 443.

be to our honour to leave that proud rebel unassailed, we must now plainly charge you, according to the duty you owe us, so to unite soundness of judgement to the zeal you have to do us service, and with all speed to pass thither in such order.'

During that summer there was talk that the Queen was showing signs of her age. She was not riding out in the park so often, and after a mile or two would complain 'of the uneasy going of her horse, and when she is taken down, her legs are so benumbed that she is unable to stand'. When Elizabeth, who greatly feared the consequences of of people believing she had lost her grip on affairs, learned what was being said of her, she embarked on a vigorous campaign to counteract it, riding off on private excursions with fewer attendants than 'beseemed her estate', and hotly castigating Lord Hunsdon when he asked her if it was wise for one of her years to ride horseback all the way from Hampton Court to Nonsuch. people believing she had lost her grip on affairs, learned what was being said of her, she embarked on a vigorous campaign to counteract it, riding off on private excursions with fewer attendants than 'beseemed her estate', and hotly castigating Lord Hunsdon when he asked her if it was wise for one of her years to ride horseback all the way from Hampton Court to Nonsuch.

'My years!' she roared. 'Maids! To your horses quickly!' Nor would she speak to Hunsdon for the next two days. Soon afterwards, one courtier was able to report: 'Her Majesty, God be thanked, is in good health, and likes very well Nonsuch air. Here hath many rumours been bruited of her, very strange, without any reason, which troubled her a little.' But she did not relax her vigilance. After reading 'an intercepted letter, wherein the giving over of long voyages was noted to be a sign of age', she deliberately extended her progress.

By the time the Queen's letter arrived, in the third week of July, Essex was pursuing another fruitless foray into Leinster, to drive out minor rebels. Early in August he was obliged to return to Dublin after suffering a minor defeat at the hands of the Irish at Arklow, after which he sent his secretary, Henry Cuffe, to inform the Queen, not only that the Irish Council had advised him that it was now too late in the year to proceed against Tyrone, but that the weather in Ireland was appalling and that, of his 16,000 men, only 4000 were left, the rest having been killed, deserted, or died of disease.

Elizabeth was appalled, and incredulous at the advice given Essex; greatly agitated, she sent 2000 reinforcements, and on 10 August told him she expected to hear in his next letter that his offensive against Tyrone 'is begun and not in question'. She angrily charged him, on his allegiance, not to leave Ireland without her permission until he had 'reduced things in the north' and accomplished what he had been sent to do. He must stop wasting his resources on 'inferior rebels'. 'We require you to consider whether we have not great cause to think that your purpose is not to end the war,' she added perceptively.

Essex, ill with dysentery and kidney trouble, and demoralised, now 444.

baulked at facing Tyrone, knowing he faced almost certain defeat, but the Queen, in a further trenchant letter, insisted that he do so, adding that no good success ever attended a man who refused to heed sound advice. Her courtiers marvelled that 'Essex hath done so little,' whilst Francis Bacon, whose abilities Elizabeth was grudgingly coming to appreciate, warned her that leaving the Earl in Ireland and putting 'arms and power into his hands, may be a kind of temptation to make him prove unruly'. He urged her to recall Essex. Grimly, she thanked him for having given voice to her own suspicions.

Essex, his ego bruised by the Queen's stinging criticisms and complaints, was becoming obsessed with fears of what the Cecil faction were doing at home to undermine his influence. He had been dismayed to learn that his enemy, Lord Buckhurst, had been appointed Lord Treasurer in Burghley's stead. There was no doubt that the Queen was displeased with Essex, and this he imputed to the machinations of his enemies rather than his own behaviour. Suddenly, he knew what he must do. He had no business to be in Ireland, pursuing elusive military success; instead, he would return to England to safeguard his interests. He knew, with a mounting sense of despair, that, thanks to his incompetence, his army was in no fit state to conquer Tyrone, and at this point all good sense deserted him.

He now announced to his astonished colleagues that he intended to cross to Wales with 3000 men, gather reinforcements from his estates in the principality, and march on London to insist upon the removal of Cecil and his party, whose misgovernment and desire for peace was, he believed, responsible for the ruin of the kingdom. That accomplished, he would force the Queen to accept him as her chief minister. That it could be done, he was convinced, knowing that he had the love of the people and an army at his back. He stressed that he intended no harm to the Queen, and would personally justify his actions to her, hoping that the joy of seeing him would quell any displeasure on her part. Detached from reality as he was fast becoming, it did not occur to him that she might not welcome such an infringement on her prerogative.

Mountjoy and Southampton tried to warn Essex that what he was contemplating was sheer madness and could lead to civil war, but he would not listen. To ensure his safety, therefore, they urged him to leave his army in Ireland and take with him 'a competent number' of his officers and new knights to support him in his demands. But first, they insisted, honour required that he finish this business with Tyrone.

At the end of August, Essex finally left Dublin for Ulster, with a much depleted force, having written in melodramatic vein to the Queen, 'From a mind delighting in sorrow, from spirits wasted with travail, care 445.

and grief; from a heart torn in pieces with passion; from a man that hates himself and all things that keep him alive - what service can Your Majesty reap? Since my services past deserve no more than banishment and proscription into the most cursed of all countries, with what expectation shall I live longer?' The letter was signed, 'From Your Majesty's exiled servant, Essex.'